


all is well (it's only blood)

by hart



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I suck at tags, M/M, Sickfic, kind of???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:08:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hart/pseuds/hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The disease went this way sometimes; he would fall asleep happy and tipsy and wake up in agony. Peter had seen it before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all is well (it's only blood)

**Author's Note:**

> I watched TASM 2 for the first time yesterday. I'd put it off for so long because I wasn't prepared for Gwen, but I ended up crying more over this terminally ill trust fund fuckboy. AU in which the whole end of the movie doesn't happen, Harry and Peter are boyfriends, and Harry's illness is a bit less comic-book.  
> This is almost an unedited first draft, so excuse how awful it might actually be, I just couldn't wait to get it out of my system. I'll write something better soon I swear.

He's smoking on the balcony when Peter comes through to his quarters. Sat with his back against the railings, his skinny frame swathed in a duvet wrapped around his shoulders. He looks shattered, and Peter sighs as he draws closer, crouching down to meet his eye level.

"Hey," he says, and Harry blinks, looking round like he's just noticed the taller boy is there.

"Peter," he smiles dazedly, voice thick and hoarse with smoke and sickness.

"The hell are you doing, Harry?" 

Peter takes the cigarette from Harry's trembling hands. It's burnt down to the filter, obviously neglected for a while, and Peter stubs it out behind him.

"I wanted a cigarette," the blond says, shifting in his position. 

"How long you been sat here?" Peter checks his forehead with the palm of his hand. The daylight is only just turning into a cooling evening sun, but Harry feels frozen already. 

"M'not sure, I came out for one and then... then I had to sit down, so," he trails off, screwing up his face in thought, as though the last few hours were as hard to recall as the last few years. Peter chews his bottom lip, nudging the cigarette packet by Harry's bare feet. There are two left. 

"You're gonna kill yourself smoking like that." 

"Gonna die anyway," Harry shrugs and it's absolutely void of emotion, but Peter feels a lump rise in his own throat. He swallows it and leaps to his feet, forcing a smile.

"Come on," he holds out his hand, and when Harry takes it Peter pulls him up quickly, and in one swift motion slides one arm around his partner's narrow waist, the other behind his knees and sweeps him off his feet, bridal-style. Harry yelps, duvet falling to the floor revealing his minimal outfit of black boxers and a white t-shirt and Peter rolls his eyes- no wonder he's so fucking cold. 

"Peter, I can walk- Peter!" he squeals best he can with his sore throat.

"Shush," Peter silences him with a kiss to the forehead. "Come on, princess, let's warm you up."

Harry gives over his fight after less than a minute, allowing Peter to carry him into his bedroom and unceremoniously dump him on the king-sized bed. 

"Ow!"

"Oh, you're not made of glass," Peter jokes, stealing a kiss from Harry's chapped lips before leaving to grab the duvet from the balcony. When he returns Harry's curled in on himself and shivering. Peter lays the duvet over him and sits down on the edge of the bed, pushing a couple of blond strands away from Harry's eyes. 

"M'cold," he mumbles and Peter can't help but smirk a little. 

"Yeah, that's why you shouldn't be sat outside."

Harry just hums a reply, eyelids slipping shut. Peter frowns, glancing around the room. It's mostly immaculate, as per usual, except for an open bottle of pills spilling round, white tablets onto the plush carpet, and the shirt Harry had worn to their date the night before. The disease went this way sometimes; he would fall asleep happy and tipsy and wake up in agony. Peter had seen it before; the days where his partner would howl at his insides burning and shake in cold sweats until Peter would have to peel the soaking clothes from his pale body and dress him in clean ones, only to do the same a couple hours later. Some days Harry just slept, for hours and hours.

Once Peter had found him seizing.  
He was on his bathroom floor in nothing but his pyjama trousers, convulsing like nothing Peter had ever seen. He'd bitten through his lip, blood and saliva running down his jawline, eyes rolled back, head hitting the stone floor again and again as he shook violently. When he came to, Peter was crying with panic and scrambling for his phone.  
_"Hey, hey,"_ Harry had said, blinking himself into awareness. _"Are you okay?"_  
Peter laughed in disbelief, scooping the billionaire into his arms and kissing him all over.  
_"Don't you ever do that again, Har', okay, don't you ever scare me like that again."_

The memory made Peter feel ill. 

Harry turned under the covers, moaning quietly.

"What do you need, what's wrong?" Peter leaned down, running a hand through Harry's hair. 

"Do we have any codeine?" 

Peter likes the way he says 'we'. 

"They took you off it, remember?"

Harry's brow furrows before relaxing in realization.

"Yeah," he laughs bitterly. "Somethin' bout addiction risk, right?"

Peter just nods. 

"I'll see what there is, okay?"

"Mhm," Harry murmurs, pulling the duvet closer.

\-----

Harry takes three Advil and drifts off whilst Peter plays with his fringe, talking about his week, his photos, Aunt May. When he's sure Harry's completely asleep he begins to tidy the room, putting the strewn pills back in their pot, picking up the clothes and folding them over the back of a chair. He washes the dishes in the kitchen area- glasses mainly- opens a couple of windows and drags out fresh throws for the sofas. It takes him a good fifteen minutes to work out the space-age washing machine.  
He's reached the en suite bathroom, gathering socks from the marble tiles before he hears Harry stir. 

"Pete?"

It's strained and sleepy and Peter's there in a second, supporting Harry's back as he tries to push himself into a sitting position. 

"I've got you."

Harry says nothing, and then-

"I'm going to be sick."

"Okay," Peter keeps his voice steady, pulling the duvet back from Harry's bony legs. "Okay, come on, put your arm there." He taps his shoulder to indicate the desired placement and Harry flings an arm around Peter's neck. Peter slides a hand around his back and hoists the smaller man onto his unsteady feet. He's surprised at how well Harry seems to carry himself, only half-stumbling once as they make their way across his huge bedroom, but as soon as they're in the en suite he lets himself drop beside the toilet and drape himself over it like there's not a bone in his body. 

"Pete, you-" is all he manages before he's lurching forwards. Peter just about gets his fringe in time before Harry's vomiting the contents of his stomach, or lack thereof. It burns, bile, because when was the last time he consumed any solids that weren't pills? Last night? He'd had dinner with Peter, he was sure, but running a company takes away your appetite, and he had always had the bad habit of forgetting to eat. Perhaps it was drinks he'd had with Peter. That would make more sense. 

Peter strokes his back as Harry retches and shudders until he falls back against Peter's chest, breathless, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, crawling around so he can bury his face in Peter's neck. Peter almost laughs. He maneuvers Harry into a position where he can unfold his skinny legs and pull one either side of his own hips, tugging him close to his chest as Harry clambers further up into his lap. He's bony, and it's not particularly comfortable for Peter but he doesn't care, tightening his hold around Harry's waist.

"Don't be sorry for throwing up, you idiot. Remember when you drank a whole bottle of vodka you found at Gwen's party and threw up all night? Weren't used to the cheap shit." 

But Harry's not laughing and he pulls back from Peter's collar, blue eyes gleaming with tears threatening to spill. 

"No, Pete, I'm _sorry_ ," his voice sounds raw, breath hitching. "I- I don't want to do this to you, I- you deserve to be with-"

"Hey, hey," Peter cuts him off as the sobs set in, pressing their foreheads together, fingers coming up to stroke one of his partner's hollow cheeks. "You're sick, Har', you can't help that, it's not your fault-"

"But you should be with someone who can- can stand on their own two feet. Someone who-" 

"Hey," Peter snaps, wiping a tear from Harry's face. He kisses his cheek, then his lips, again and again until Harry finally responds. It's reserved and weak and he's still crying when Peter pulls away. "I want to be with _you_. Alright, buddy?" 

Harry sniffs and nods.

"It's not always like this," Peter continues, "is it? You were fine yesterday; get a good sleep tonight and you should be back on your feet in no time."

"But it's just going to get worse," Harry whispers and Peter freezes. He knows that. He knows that without what Oscorp have desperately developed, without the constant research it would be a lot worse already. He knows they're only stalling the inevitable. But it's not something either of them have said out loud. Peter didn't think they'd reached that point yet.

He takes a deep breath.

"I know," he sighs shakily. "I know. But Harry, that doesn't mean anything, okay, I want you on the good days _and_ the bad ones." 

Harry nods again, eyes averted and tears falling freely.

"I just don't want you to see me die, Pete," he breathes, and it's almost quiet enough that Peter doesn't have to wish he didn't hear it. He pulls Harry back to his chest, burying his face in his hair and stroking his left shoulder blade. 

"We'll figure something out," he soothes. He hopes Harry's too delirious to hear the waver in his voice. He hopes it doesn't sound too empty when he says, "I promise. I promise."

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really like this tbh but like I said, I just needed to get a fic out of my system. I have written a happy ending if anyone's interested, I just didn't feel that it really went with the rest.


End file.
